He was sitting at their sides. A beautiful day. It was his birthday. 111 years today. Contemplating a silly prophecy that had been bantering about the wizarding world for years.
Harry Potter cannot die. Because he killed the only one who could kill him, he can never die.
The prophecy never bothered him before. He and Ginny just laughed about it. That is, until recently.
His old mind couldn't help but wander to one hundred years ago. Seeing her for the first time. The bright red hair. Every year since then, she was a part of his life. And since the end of that great and awful war, she had been a part of his soul, every single day.
His thoughts drifted back to their wedding, the births of their three children. Then their first times on the Hogwarts Express, then their weddings, Births of their own children, and then their children. The cycle of life right before his eyes.
Why did he feel left out? What did he do to earn this? That awful, terrible prophesy.
Then he felt an old, gnarled hand touch him on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw his daughter, his sweet Lily. So much like her mother. There was still a little red left in her white hair, still the fiery spirit in her eyes. When did she get so old?
"Come on, Daddy. They'll be waiting for us." She gestured behind her.
He turned back to the three before him, His daring, mischievous James. So young to earn a stone. His tender hearted Albus. So strong to have fought for his. And then, he kissed the newly turned earth that held his eternal love.
Please God, let this be the one prophesy about him that turned out wrong.
Standing, shaking on his weak knees, Lily held his arm to steady him as he wove his way out of the cemetery.